


I Put it Out of My Mind (Long Enough to Call it Courage)

by ayazuri



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Angst, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, Inception Big Bang 2020, M/M, Swearing, and life goes on, but there's a hint that things get better eventually, coping with loss, not outright happy ending, that there's hope in the end, very background dom/mal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:28:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25635073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ayazuri/pseuds/ayazuri
Summary: It’s surprising how much one can love.It’s equally surprising how much it hurts, having your soul and your heart and your mind removed and crushed, and somehow still being forced to live on.They say that in the end the only thing that’s left when the love of your life is gone, is the endless mirage, the kaleidoscope of memories, swirling around without any order.(Oh, and they were. They were completely, utterly and madly in love.)
Relationships: Arthur/Eames (Inception)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 35
Collections: Inception Big Bang 2020





	I Put it Out of My Mind (Long Enough to Call it Courage)

**Author's Note:**

> At long last, this little piece of mine is completed and ready to see the sun! :D  
> And despite the fact that I'm emotionally drained after writing this, and I'm definitely taking a break from MCD and heavy angst, I'm still beyond happy! Had my ups and downs while writing this fic, as well as several breakdowns because WHY AM I SO CRUEL, OH MY GOD... But hey, I've always been a little masochist!  
> Many thanks to all the amazing people that were supporting me!  
> Thank you so much Mizu BECAUSE YOU'RE INSANELY TALENTED AND YOU MADE MY DREAM COME TRUE!  
> Thank you, thank you, thank you Jones for editing, commentary and kind words! I hope you know that this fic is so amazing thanks to your help! It's been a pleasure working with you!  
> And big thanks to Soph for words of encouragement when it was shitty <3  
> And sorry Ann for the MCD... That's just kinda...happened....
> 
> Oh, and of course the most important part, THERE AN ART TO THIS STORY, AND IT'S AMAZING BECAUSE MIZU IS A GODDESS!  
> And you can check it out HERE  
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy this tiny little 13k something bit of suffernig! :3  
> Love!  
> \- Azu

It starts like all stories start.

A long, long time ago, in a country far away, there was a boy and a girl...

Ah, no.

A long, long time ago, in a country far away, there was a boy and a boy....

*

Or maybe:

Not so long ago, in a not so far away country and not even far away city, in some warehouse on the outskirts of the city, a man meets a man...

*

But rather:

Fifteen years ago, in Paris, France, in the warehouse on the outskirts of the city, Eames meets Arthur for the very first time.

*

It starts long, long before it goes wrong. 

And when it goes wrong, it’s sudden and unexpected. Cuts deep and tears something away from Eames.

*

Tears everything away from him.

*

When it happens, they’ve been together for ten years. And after that there’s nothing more.

*

The thing is, Eames got reckless. Somewhere along the way, he started believing that there can be a happy ending for them.

*

He should’ve known better.

*

The thing is, this business is unforgiving, and if you’re not lucky enough, you have to pay for mistakes you have long forgotten.

*

Eames isn’t lucky enough.

*

They take this job mostly because they’re in Eagle Rock, in Arthur’s -- but practically _their_ \-- house, and the job is in San Diego and it’s enough if they just come there on the same day the team goes under.

They take this job because Luna works as an architect there, and it’s been ages since they last worked together, and because it’s Johansson who’s the extractor and he’s one of the best extractors in business.

They take this job because it’s easy money and they’ve been lazing around for too long lately.

*

Arthur does all his thorough research on the mark from their couch, while Eames watches some random movie. They sip wine and exchange occasional comments about how stupid the movie is.

The job is easy and all they need from him is just a simple forge, just some distraction for the rest of the rest of the team to be able to carry on their tasks, so he settles for the Blonde, his tried and tested forge that saved his arse many, many times.

It’s an easy job, well-paid, almost zero risk.

*

But some people never forget the wrongs.

*

It’s not like Eames blames them. He doesn’t.

He’s done so many questionable or downright wrong things in his life, he barely keeps the count. 

It’s just… He believes he is the one who should pay. 

*

Luna is bright-eyed and smiling, waves at them when they enter a warehouse. 

‘’So good to see you!’’ she exclaims as she hugs them, first Arthur and then him. Her arms tremble a little when she sneaks them around his neck.

‘’You okay?’’ he asks and there’s a strange glint in her eyes when she looks up at him but she nods.

‘’I’m perfect, Eames. Thanks for asking.’’

He doesn’t dwell on that.

*

Maybe he should’ve been smarter. 

Maybe there was a way to connect the dots. (No, there wasn’t.)

*

They go under. Two levels, on the first one Luna is the dreamer, on the second it’s Johansson.

It goes smoothly and Eames is already in the skin of the Blonde, winking at Arthur who stands on the other side of the corridor. He’ll probably scold Eames later for being unprofessional and careless, but Eames can’t let the occasion slip. 

And when he’s just about to engage in a passionate flirting with their mark, he opens his eyes on the first level, with the barrel of the gun pressed to his forehead and doesn’t have time to think before there’s a loud bang and he’s not dreaming anymore.

*

It’s Luna.

Luna is holding a gun pointed straight at him, and her eyes aren’t bright and she isn’t smiling.

It’s Eames who slowly stands up, hands held up so she can see them, and it’s Eames who wonders what this all is about.

‘’Easy there,’’ he says cautiously. ‘’Don’t do anything you will regret later.’’

She blinks away the fury that clouds her gaze.

‘’And do you regret?’’ she asks silently. ‘’Venice, 2009. Do you regret it?’’

And _oh shit,_ suddenly it makes sense, and he should’ve known but he ignored so many signs. And yes, he does regret, very much so, but there wasn’t any other way, except it’s not that she would listen to him now.

‘’Venice, 2009.’’ She repeats, and somewhere to Eames’ left and behind him erupts screaming, and Luna’s finger squeezes the trigger--

And all goes to shit.

*

He hears Arthur’s voice yelling, sharp and sudden.

‘’Eames, stay down!’’ 

And he feels a strong hand on his shoulder pressing him back down, and Arthur is next to him, and then steps in front of him, and he has a gun and raises it to fire at Luna, but he’s slower, just this half a second slower.

*

He sees it happen. Right there, right in front of his eyes.

*

_Bang._

_Bang._

_Two shots fired._

_*_

  
  


Eames’ heart sinks, mind goes blank in a blink of an eye. Just if someone flipped the switch. He doesn’t think, just instinct kicking in. 

_No, no, oh God, no,_ replaying like a mantra in his head.

Arthur’s body is knocked backwards, straight into his arms. He wraps them instinctively around his waist, and like that they sink to the ground.

_No, no, oh God, please no._

*

_Bang._

_Bang._

_Two shots fired._

*

And Eames hears Luna cry out and then her body hits the ground, but he doesn’t look up because his eyes are transfixed on Arthur. 

Eames’ heart stops.

There are two angry holes where the bullets dug in, one in the chest so fucking close to Arthur’s heart, and the second deep in his stomach. 

And there’s blood. Already too much fucking blood.

_Oh shit. Oh fuck. That looks bad._

‘’Look at yourself, shirt all ruined,’’ Eames says, voice on the verge of cracking. ‘’And who’s going to clean it, eh?’’

And Arthur, Arthur is fucking smiling at him, relief painted all over his face. Eames swallows hard, puts his trembling hands over the wounds and presses. Blood oozes between his fingers, -- _how the fuck could there be so much blood?_ \-- staining planes of previously pristine white shirt. Arthur winces and grimaces, but the smile doesn’t leave his eyes. 

_Oh shit. Oh fuck. They need a medic._

Johansson is next to them, takes one look and swears loudly ( _Fyfan! Jävlar!_ ).

‘’I know a doctor here,’’ he says immediately. ‘’Quick, get him in my car, now!’’

And Eames does. 

He carries Arthur -- _his_ _brilliant, handsome, intelligent Arthur_ \-- on wobbling legs, tries to hold him with his trembling hands.

Repeats over and over again, that it’s going to be just fine. It’s going to be just alright.

And Arthur looks at him, his face constricting in pain, his muscles spasming and he coughs and there’s blood on his lips.

*

Johansson is driving way too fast than is legally allowed. He swears and swears, never stops swearing, like this alone could make a car pick up speed. But it doesn’t and they’re still not fast enough. 

Eames is soaked with blood. The backseat is soaked with blood.

And life is seeping away from Arthur in a steady rhythm.

But the bastard is still smiling. He's still happy, even when it starts to get harder and harder to breathe. 

*

"I'm sorry, Arthur. I'm so sorry. It'll be alright, you hear me? It'll be just fine, yeah? Just-- just don't go to sleep, okay?"

*

But Arthur doesn't listen to him. He never listens. Always has to know better and always has to do things his way. 

(No, that’s not true.)

His hand finds one of Eames' still pressed to the bullet wound. He squeezes weakly and doesn't let go.

"S-- sorry, but this time there’s n-no waking up." He whispers, eyes locked with Eames'.

He sucks in a breath, his face twisted. Eames shushes him and tells him not to speak anymore. 

But he does anyway.

‘’I love you.’’

And it squeezes air out of his lungs, and crushes his heart, and yes, yes, he loves him too.

"Oh darling," he chokes on the words. "I’ve always been yours."

Arthur smiles the brightest smile Eames has ever seen.

Then sucks in a shuddering breath and exhales.

And never breathes again.

Under Eames' palm, his heart gives out the last weak thump and stutters to a stop. 

Just then, Johansson hits the breaks and the car stops.

*

Eames isn't sure but he thinks he might be dead, too.

*

The poker chip doesn't multiply itself when Eames rubs at it. No matter how much he wishes for it. 

It can't be happening, but it is.

It can't be true, but it is.

It's not a dream.

*

He's awake and Arthur is not here anymore.

*

There’s blood on him.

So much blood.

*

He’s in shock. He must be in shock. Because the first person he calls when all is done, _when Arthur’s body lies there, in the basement, and the medic friend has a fucking solemn expression, because there really wasn’t anything they could do, too much damage, too much blood loss by the time they got there, and so Arthur practically died on the way, in Eames’ embrace fucking smiling like nothing was happening. Like he was the happiest person in the world, and Eames heart broke..._

The first person he calls then is Dominick fucking Cobb. It’s early morning, and Cobb is probably sleeping but Eames doesn’t give a damn. 

Cobb answers after five or six signals, and he’s majorly pissed. And sleepy.

‘’What the fuck Eames?! Do you know what time it is?!’’ he barks into the phone.

‘’Arthur is dead.’’

And there’s silence. Absolute, total silence save for Cobb’s suddenly heavy breathing.

‘’What?’’ Cobb asks, sounding _overly intelligent_ , but Eames finds he doesn’t blame him. Cobb probably doesn’t want to believe in that as much as Eames doesn’t. 

_But Eames fucking sees Arthur’s lifeless body, that’s already starting to turn cold, and Cobb, Cobb doesn’t have to watch this. Cobb didn’t have to watch Arthur being shot, he didn’t hold him in his arms pleading, begging, and lying over and over again, that yes, it’ll all be alright, it’s fine, you’ll be fine._

‘’Arthur is dead,’’ Eames repeats, voice steady and hollow. 

Cobb takes a deep breath, sharply, the air catches in his throat. ‘’H-how? What happened?’’

 _Me,_ he wants to say, but it’s not like Cobb can understand that.

‘’A mistake from long time ago’’ he says instead, and then feels an oncoming wave of words he can’t force back, because it all comes tumbling down on him, the realization and helplessness and guilt. ‘’I fucked up, it’s my fault, you know? It should be me, Cobb, it should be fucking me, not him. This bullets were meant for me, he pushed me out of the way, he took the bullets for me, and he’s fucking dead, do you hear me? He’s fucking dead because of me. Because I made a mistake.’’

And Cobb is saying something, quickly, his voice urgent, but Eames can’t hear him over the ringing in his ears. The only thing he manages to make out is the question Cobb asks at the very end of his speech.

‘’Where are you Eames? Are you with- with him?’’

‘’Yes. We’re- I mean, I am in San Diego.’’

‘’Do you want me to come for you?’’ Eames frowns. _Why,_ he wants to say, _why would you come, I don’t need you here,_ but then he realizes that yes, he very much needs _someone_ to help him, because the ground is starting to slip from under his feet and suddenly he knows he’s not going to manage on his own. 

‘’I- Yeah, okay, I’ll send you an address in a minute, alright?’’ he says, and it comes out weak, weaker than he’s ever remembered himself sound. ‘’Just...Come as quickly as you can.’’

‘’Yes, sure. See you soon.’’

*

Johansson puts a hand on his shoulder and squeezes.

‘’I’m sorry, Eames,’’ he says quietly. ‘’I’m so sorry.’’

Eames doesn’t answer because there isn’t anything to say.

Other than he’s sorry, too.

*

By the time Cobb gets there -- it takes him two and a half hours -- Eames has already called a few people, started arranging the ceremony.

See, one thing about Eames?

He is pragmatic. 

When there's absolutely no other choice and when the situation calls for it, he is terribly pragmatic.

And another thing about Eames.

He knows a lot of people and a lot of people owe him favours.

And so some part of him that is apparently still fully functioning -- Eames wonders which one, because his heart stopped right there alongside Arthur's, and his lungs gave out right after, and his brain shut down and shrivelled to nothing but blackness and void, but there still something that's working and Eames finds it terribly inconvenient -- decides it's the high time for pragmatism.

So when Cobb arrives two and a half hours later, almost everything is settled. The whole funeral. And Eames doesn't give a shit as to how many people he just dragged out of bed by their asses. 

When Cobb arrives, it just gets more real. 

Eames sees it, the pure disbelief and denial in Cobb's eyes. He rubs at the damned poker chip again, just to see that it doesn't work this time around, too. 

Cobb stands frozen on the last stair, eyes fixated on Arthur's body. Eames looks at him, at Cobb, because he can't bear to look at Arthur anymore. Not _that_ Arthur, lifeless and cold and miserable. He doesn't want to remember him like that because the real Arthur is -- was -- none of those things. 

Cobb swallows hard and his hand twitches in the direction of his pocket. Eames recognizes it as the impulse to check the totem. Oh, how fucked up they are, doubting every second of their lives, having to rely on their tiny little beacons of reality. 

But Cobb knows that it's real. Maybe he checked his totem right after the call woke him up. The fact remains that he doesn't check it here in the basement. He swallows again and tears his gaze from Arthur, looks at his own feet, hand travelling up to rub at his face. 

‘’We should-- ah-- we should do something with the-- with the--’’ Cobb says, sounds like a broken record that stucks on a false note every few seconds, and maybe Eames is a bit cruel here or maybe he just has enough and can’t take anything anymore, because he really does know what Cobb means, what is that he can’t say out loud. 

_The body. They should take care of the body._

Except that _the body_ in question is Arthur. 

Arthur. A friend. A lover.

Eames’ Arthur.

And Eames used to hate him at the very beginning, before he learned just how wrong he was.

Before he learned that when Arthur smiled, really smiled, there were dimples in his cheeks and the glint in his eyes. That when Arthur loved someone, truly and honestly, there wasn’t a thing he wouldn’t do. That he would give everything to make Eames happy. That he always put Eames’ safety before his own, until it was too late. 

Before Eames learned that Arthur would die giving his own life to save Eames’.

‘’I took care of it,’’ someone speaks, and Eames belatedly realises it’s him. 

‘’What?’’ Cobb asks, because it’s probably hard to believe in everything what’s happening just now.

‘’I took care of it. All of it,’’ Eames repeats. And then he takes a shuddering breath, and allows himself a little vulnerability, because he too once saw Cobb break, and he thinks it’s high time to return the favour. Or he doesn’t really think anything and things just happen without him controlling anything. It’s really too hard to tell. ‘’Let’s just go when I still can do this. Because if I stay a minute longer, I might just not be able to.’’ 

And Cobb doesn’t argue with that, doesn’t say a single word.

Takes Eames by the elbow and guides the way. 

And although it hurts as if his soul is being torn from his body, Eames doesn’t look back. 

Because if he does, he won’t be able to leave. And that would be fucking ungrateful.

*

‘’It’s in three days from now,’’ is the only thing he says throughout the whole ride in Cobb’s car. And Cobb doesn’t ask what is in three days because he knows.

*

Cobb takes him home. 

*

Whether he’s there a day, or two weeks, or three months, he doesn’t know.

*

Arthur isn’t here anymore.

Nothing matters anymore.

*

It’s surprising how much one can love.

It’s equally surprising how much it hurts, having your soul and your heart and your mind removed and crushed, and somehow still being forced to live on.

*

They say that in the end the only thing that’s left when the love of your life is gone, is the endless mirage, the kaleidoscope of memories, swirling around without any order. 

*

-

-

Arthur’s hand trembles in his grip. His breath shudders and stutters on a laugh when they trip on their own feet. They’re both drunk. Wasted, honestly. Stumbling through nearly empty dance floor. The party is almost over, the dj playing probably the last song of the night. It’s some cheesy love song, one that requires either to be completely, utterly and madly in love, or high levels of alcohol in blood to dance to it. 

And they are.

They are very drunk.

So they stride over the floor, laughing at nothing at all, clutching each other like lifelines. Arthur’s head rests on his shoulder, his body pressed so close to Eames'. Eames holds him tight. Has that paranoid fear that it all will vanish if he lets go.

But the song eventually comes to an end, like all things in life do, and Eames knows he _has to let go._ But they don’t want to part just yet. So they stay there, on the dance floor, swaying gently to their own music while all the others leave. Lights go out one by one and there’s darkness engulfing them, save for the faint neon lights of the bar on the other side of the room.

Arthur trembles in his embrace, gasping, and Eames knows that he’s crying. He can’t find any words to soothe the tears. 

Eames doesn’t want this to end.

Doesn’t want to let go.

He thinks that maybe they are completely, utterly and madly in love.

-

-

*

In the end there’s a funeral suit that sits all wrong on his shoulders, and solemn expressions on the faces around him, and a coffin, and a hole in the ground that swallows what once was a living soul. 

And everybody hurts and is sorry, and he really should be hurting too, shouldn’t he?

But there’s nothing left in him. Nothing that could possibly hurt.

Just an endless, bottomless black hole.

*

-

-

The house is quiet and dark, and something is wrong. He can feel it radiating from the walls and the silence of corridors. He crawls out of his bed, fever forgotten and left in the damp sheets. Alfie The Dog glances at him and then rises from where he lies to follow him out of the room. They make their way to the stairs. 

His grandmother is talking in a hushed tone. Her voice is shaking. He looks over at Alfie and nods, and together they go downstairs.

His grandmother is standing with the receiver pressed tightly to her ear, tears rolling down her face. He stands frozen on the last stair and gapes at her, doesn’t know what to do. When she notices him, her breath catches in her throat and she makes a choking sound, covers her mouth with the palm of her hand. 

He wants to say that she shouldn’t be crying. It’ll all be good after all.

But then his grandfather comes out from the kitchen, and stands in between him and grandmother. She starts crying again. He looks up at his grandfather

‘’What’s wrong with granny?’’ he asks concerned.

Grandfather doesn’t answer.

‘’Go back to sleep, it’s the middle of the night.’’

Oh. The middle of the night. He really should be sleeping. 

And his parents and brother, they should be back already, shouldn’t they?

‘’Are George and parents home?’’ he asks again.

‘’Go back to sleep,’’ grandfather repeats. ‘’It’s really late now.’’

He doesn’t understand why it’s so important to go back to sleep and why nobody can answer his question, but he’s tired and his fever is probably going up again. He nods and starts climbing back up to his room. Alfie follows him. When they’re halfway up, he turns to look at his grandparents. 

Granny is crying silently in grandfather’s embrace. Grandfather’s shoulders quiver. 

He’s twelve. And his childhood will end in three days, when he realises that death is irrevocable, and those who die never come back.

-

-

*

It would be better if it rained, thinks Eames, scorching heat boiling his insides. 

It’s sunny for most of the year in California, he knows that, but somehow it feels wrong and unfair that the sun has to shine on this day. There’s nothing good about this day. There’s no reason for the sun to shine today. 

*

It’s a small ceremony. An entirely civil one.

There’s Cobb and Ariadne and Arthur’s sister, Amanda. And there’s also a large, neat funeral wreath from Saito. 

There are no unnecessary words spoken because there’s no use for them.

It is what it is.

One lives and one dies.

Life is rarely fair.

*

Eames is numb, so damn numb. 

He’s numb when they lower Arthur’s casket -- the dark mahogany one -- into the hole in the ground, and still numb when they bury it. He’s numb while he stands there, refusing to talk to anyone, and the numbness doesn’t go away when they eventually decide it’s better to let Eames be for some time.

*

-

-

Arthur is all sharp edges, elegance and efficiency. 

He comes -- _storms_ \-- into the warehouse, fancy suit and the air of seriousness Eames can’t help but detest.

-

-

*

In the end love only hurts, decides Eames, standing at the grave of the only person who had all of him. And now Eames is as dead as his beloved.

*

It’s not like he’ll ever love again.

*

-

-

‘’Oh, I’m _terribly_ sorry, didn’t anybody tell you? Fancy twinks and boring paper-pushers aren’t allowed here.’’

‘’Oh, I’m _terribly_ sorry, but nobody told me I’d be babysitting an obnoxious, back-stabbing twat.’’

Mal’s laughter rings in the almost empty warehouse.

-

-

*

Eventually, he ends up in the nearby church. A small one, open almost all the time. There’s nobody inside, and it’s quiet and no one will ever think to look for him in there. So he stays.

It’s ironic that he sits there, in the pews, for three hours; he’s long decided that there’s no God. And yet, he can’t bring himself to leave. He doesn’t really think about anything at all. Thinking is hard when your heart is in agony, bleeding and shattering over and over again. 

There can’t be any God up there, because if there was one, he would have never let Arthur die.

Arthur doesn’t - _didn’t_ \- believe either. He is - _was_ \- too down-to-earth for such metaphysical bullshit.

And yet, there’s something calming within the church's walls. 

The priest lets him stay as long as Eames needs.

*

It’s hard to start thinking about his love in past tense, he realizes in the chilly silence of the sanctuary.

*

-

-

‘’You two are like fire and ice,’’ Mal tells him five days into the job, five days after they meet for the first time.

‘’What can I say? Not my fault that I was born hot, charming, and exciting.’’

And Mal laughs, the same way she laughed on the first day.

‘’Oh, but it’s Arthur who’s the fire _,_ ’’ she says when she finally stops and her eyes know. ‘’And you, _mon cheri_ , you are the ice.’’

No, he thinks, Arthur is nothing like fire.

-

-

*

Amanda finds him there. 

Her heels click loudly in the empty and silent church. She sits next to him in the pew and doesn’t say anything. Takes his hand in hers and holds it firmly. 

They stay like that for some more time. Minutes, maybe hours. Eames doesn’t know. 

And when his hand starts trembling in her grip, and the tears that wouldn’t come for so long start stinging his eyes, she squeezes and turns to look at him at last.

‘’I’m taking you home, Eames.’’

*

She takes him home to Eagle Rock. 

Home, where all the memories still live. Where the past keeps on breathing. 

And she holds him in her arms when he cries and cries, and cries some more.

He thinks she might be crying, too. 

*

-

-

Arthur groans in pain and Eames shoots up and turns to him instantly.

There’s red blossoming on his pristine white shirt, just under the right side of his collarbone, very close to the shoulder.

‘’Arthur,’’ Eames breathes, black void in his head. ‘’Arthur, are you okay?’’

Arthur glares at him and his eyes are clear and focused.

‘’Fuck no,’’ he hisses through gritted teeth, presses his hand to the wound. ‘’My shirt is ruined.’’

Eames almost bursts out laughing because of all the things -- all the absurd and infuriatingly precise things -- Arthur has ever done up to this point, complaining about the condition of his shirt after just being shot is truly and undoubtedly unbeatable.

-

-

*

There’s no use in running away. Every part of his body bleeds the memory of Arthur, of his touch, his lips. _His love._

Eames’ brain feels broken, and everytime he closes his eyes, all he can see is Arthur. His lips. Dimples in his cheeks when his smile was broad and sincere. The way his eyes lit up whenever he was excited. 

Arthur is in bed with him, and in the shower. He still sits in his favourite spot in the kitchen and Eames swears that the whole apartment smells of coffee when he wakes up every morning - or midday, or afternoon, or evening. Because it doesn’t matter anymore when he sleeps and when he wakes up; there’s no sense of time for him anymore. 

Arthur is everywhere, and Eames can’t take the pain anymore. He longs for the numbness that encompassed him just after everything happened. But the numbness is gone and all that’s left is grief. 

Arthur smiles at him from the mirror and Eames is sure that one day he’s going to smash it into a million pieces. 

Living on seems like an unbearable task and Eames isn’t sure he can find it in himself to carry on. But then again, dying now would make Arthur’s death pointless. And that is something Eames could never bring himself to do.

Arthur’s PASIV still sits in the same spot as always, in the corner of their - now only Eames’ - bedroom, shiny metallic case that promises oblivion and a slow descent into madness. Eames could use the device. He’s been in this business far too long not to know how to do it, and it’s a tempting thought... to go to sleep and dream of Arthur. Dreaming him so real he would be able to touch him, would tell him all that he’s kept to himself all this time. He would make love to him again, and again, and again, on the floor where they’d done it for the first time, and on the bed they’ve shared for years, and in every other spot they’ve ever done it. And this time he would say all those things he could never bring himself to say. Because he’s never been brave like Arthur. 

But Eames can be wise when he feels like it, and so he knows that in the end he either would have to kill his memory of Arthur or go completely and utterly mad.

*

Eames doesn’t want it to end. 

Doesn’t want to let go. Because Arthur will vanish forever.

Oh god, they surely were. They must have been.

They were completely, utterly, and madly in love.

*

But it’s not like there’s anybody left to confess this to.

*

-

\- 

There’s Arthur, standing on his doorstep when Eames opens the door. Just standing there, watching him warily, hesitantly. As if he’s made a huge mistake but it’s too late to back down now. Eames wants to say so many things, wants to _ask_ about so many things. 

_Why are you here? Is everything alright? Are you well? It’s good to see you, so good. Come inside._

_I missed you._

But nothing comes out when he opens his mouth. Arthur is two seconds away from running, Eames can see it in his eyes and has to keep himself in check not to reach out and grab Arthur’s hand. It would serve no good. Instead he moves aside and lets Arthur in his apartment. 

It’s hot in Mombasa this time of the year, it’s always hot in Mombasa, but Arthur wears his trademark three piece suit, as always. 

And Eames is a coward, hiding from the things he’s done and from himself above all else. Of course he is.

But Arthur... Arthur is persistent, God bless him, and Arthur is strong, and courageous. That’s why he’s here, in front of Eames, and it would really be enough for Eames to just stretch out his arm to be able to touch him. He doesn’t do it.

Eames knows _why_ Arthur is here, and Arthur knows that he knows. But neither of them speaks. They just stand there, and for a moment there’s no time and no outside world. Just them. 

Then, Arthur takes a breath, greedily so. Arthur is brave.

‘’Did you mean it?’’ he asks, his voice barely audible but to Eames the words are as loud as aircraft engines. 

‘’Mean what exactly?’’ Eames counters, because he’s a coward hiding from himself above all else. But Arthur doesn’t budge, holds his ground, dives head first into Eames’ crooked soul.

‘’Did you mean it, Mr. Eames?’’ Arthur repeats, and Eames finds it hard to breathe. ‘’The things you said to me then? Did you mean it when you called me-’’ 

And Eames doesn’t want to let him finish, can’t let him finish, because for once in his life he feels brave and it can all be gone if he lets it slip, if he waits for too long.

‘’ _Darling,’’_ he says and Arthur’s breath catches. The word rolls off Eames’ tongue so naturally as it’s always belonged there. ‘’Darling,’’ he breathes again, drowning in Arthur’s eyes, ‘’There’s nothing in this world I would mean more than that.’’

It’s probably the most honest, the most _vulnerable_ thing he’s ever told anybody. 

And there’s this soft exhale, although Eames doesn’t quite register if it’s him or Arthur, but then Arthur’s lips are on his, kissing him, and Arthur is practically on Eames, pressed to his front, one of his legs slipping in between Eames’ in an effort to be closer, to melt into Eames and merge with his body. Arthur tastes of coffee and mint, and smells like _home._

It’s hot in Mombasa, every time of the year, but the floor in Eames’ apartment is pleasantly cool under their bodies.

Arthur has crossed the ocean for him, because Arthur is brave and courageous, and everything Eames will never be.

But it’s not like he’ll admit it out loud.

-

-

*

He’s numb.

So bloody numb, all the bloody time.

He doesn’t have any strength left to feel anything else.

Just emptiness. An endless void in the place where his internal organs used to be.

*

Maybe it’s been a week, or maybe two.

Maybe a month or three.

He doesn’t know anymore, doesn’t care.

*

-

-

Arthur’s body trembles beneath him, burns under his touch. 

He’s perfect. He’s so bloody perfect it knocks air out of Eames’ lungs. And Eames doesn’t really think what he’s doing, he just wants to be _closer._ So he pushes closer, hands traveling up Arthur’s sides, pushes so close until he practically lies on top of him, and then reaches a bit more up, still, to where Arthur’s hands lie over his head, and he clasps them with his own.

Arthur’s panting and moaning, hot breath dampening skin in the crook of Eames neck, and his legs hooked over Eames’ hips pull Eames _even closer._

They move together, a stuttering rhythm of rocking back and forth, back and forth, with limbs intertwined, shuddering breaths and whispering each other’s names. They’re one, no lines between them anymore, Eames deep inside Arthur, Arthur opened for him, bare and defenseless. And Arthur squeezes his hands so tightly, that Eames thinks his fingers will break. And it doesn’t matter to him. He doesn’t want it to end.

If this is love, Eames thinks, let it never end.

But it’s not like he’ll ever say it.

Afterwards, they lie on the floor in silence, Eames in the safe embrace of Arthur's surprisingly firm arms. He rests his head on Arthur's chest, steady thumping of his heart lulling him to sleep. There's a kiss, pressed to the crown of his head. 

It's hot in Mombasa for the most part of the year, but this, this is the first time Eames feels this heat seeping inside him, washing over him in pleasant waves.

Arthur stays in Mombasa the next three weeks.

Eames doesn't complain, not really.

-

-

*

He’s lost before but this time it’s ten thousand times worse.

*

That night, Yusuf calls him from across the ocean, from the place Eames had once called home.

He must already know, too. Everybody seems to know everything, nowadays.

It must be close to midday in Mombasa, Eames thinks, checking the clock before he answers the call. 

‘’Hello Eames.’’ Yusuf’s voice is careful when he greets him. He must realize that there’s a quite big time difference between States and Mombasa, because he adds quickly. ‘’Did I wake you? We can talk later if you want, that’s not a problem.’’

Eames growls. He’s already feeling pissed off. Since when does everybody treat him like a piece of fucking fine china? Yusuf never used to give a damn about whether he woke Eames up or not. Eames is many things, but he’s definitely not as weak as everybody seems to think. He takes a steadying breath to keep agitation out of his voice.

‘’No, that’s fine. I wasn’t sleeping anyway,’’ he answers and that earns him a moment of undecided silence on the other end.

‘’Right,’’ says Yusuf finally, and Eames feels the tension in the air. ‘’Listen, I just wanted to say that I’m really sorry for your loss.’’

What’s Eames even supposed to answer to that? _Thank you?_

‘’Yeah. I’m fucking sorry, too.’’ It tumbles out of his mouth before he knows. But it’s fine, it’s Yusuf and Eames kind of trusts Yusuf, even if he probably shouldn’t trust anybody in this business. Yusuf is solid and reliable and cares too much for his formulas to sell himself for some dollars, or euros or other currency. 

‘’Eames, it’s not your fault.’’ and Eames wants to scream, because how can it be not his fault? In which universe is it not his fault? 

‘’You know, don’t you? How do you know?’’

Yusuf swallows loudly.

‘’Ariadne,’’ is all he says. Ah, Ariadne. Yes, that makes sense. She probably needed someone to talk to and didn’t want to bother Eames, didn’t want to add her grief to his own.

Eames sighs, breath shuddering dangerously on the exhale. His eyes sting and he has to wipe at them, just in case. 

‘’It was supposed to be me. It _should be me_ , Yusuf. I should’ve died, not him,’’ Eames says, or maybe he screams, he can’t tell, he has close to zero control over his voice and himself in general. He half expects Yusuf to back out from the conversation, avoid any sort of confrontation. But Yusuf doesn’t budge.

‘’Then, I would be talking to Arthur right now, not to you.’’ he says calmly. ‘’And he would be just as devastated as you are.’’

‘’I’m not-’’ it’s almost a reflex, to deny. Oh, but he _is devastated._ Terribly so. 

‘’Oh, you’re not? I see. That’s a relief.’’ Yusuf’s voice is dry and skeptical, and strangely so, Eames is glad. That at least Yusuf of all people, still treats him the same way. 

‘’Ah, piss off.’’ And he thinks that he can hear Yusuf snorting silently.

‘’Listen there, Mr. Conman. I just want to check if you’re not doing anything stupid. I’m fairly sure Arthur will haunt me until my last day, if I let you do something stupid.’’

‘’Yusuf, I can assure you I’m not going to do anything stupid,’’ Eames says, rather seriously. _It would be fucking ungrateful after what Arthur did,_ he doesn’t add but Yusuf is smart guy and probably gathers as much himself. 

‘’Good. In that case, you can return the PASIV, you don’t use it anyway.’’ Yusuf answers, and this time it’s Eames’ turn to read between the lines and know that what Yusuf really means is, _You can return it so you don’t end up like Cobb, chasing the shadow of your dead lover._

 _No, I can’t,_ is what Eames wants to answer. _It’s Arthur’s PASIV._

‘’Yeah, maybe,’’ is what he says instead. 

‘’Are you coming home?’’

I don’t have one anymore, thinks Eames. 

‘’Yeah, maybe,’’ he repeats ‘’Not now, though.’’

‘’Yeah, right,’’ Yusuf hesitates for a moment, but then adds anyway, ‘’I’ve heard that there are some people looking for a forger. Some big and well-paid job, from what I’ve heard.’’

‘’Not now Yusuf.’’ The prospect of working right now feels like too much. ‘’But thanks for thinking of me.’’

‘’Yeah, no problem. Take care of yourself Eames.’’

‘’Yeah, I will.’’ 

Because what’s left there to do, anyway?

‘’Call me if you need anything.’’

‘’Yeah, okay.’’

They don’t say goodbye, just hang up. 

It’s probably midday in Mombasa, and the sun is shining. It’s probably impossibly hot, but Arthur would wear his three piece suit anyway. Or he would be naked in bed. Or on the floor. Or in the shower. And Eames would be there with him.

Eames doesn’t sleep that night. Just lies awake and stares up at the ceiling of the house that once belonged to Arthur, then technically it still belongs to Arthur, but practically to both of them, and now it’s only Eames who’s staying there and no one else.

Eames doesn’t have a home anymore.

Arthur was his home.

It’s not like he’ll ever find a new one.

*

A week later he calls Amanda. 

‘’You sure you want me to?’’ she asks for the third time when they’re about to hang up.

‘’Yes, yes, I’m positive,’’ he confirms for the third time. ‘’I can’t-- can’t do this anymore.’’

‘’Okay.’’

*

Amanda moves in two days before his flight. 

He helps her unpack and then they spend a day and a half eating pizza and take-out noodles, sipping wine, talking and crying.

Eames thinks that maybe in another life he could’ve loved her.

But not in this one. In this life, he loves someone else.

*

It takes him two months but he eventually flies back to Mombasa.

*

It’s no better, really. Arthur is there, too. The memory of him waiting when Eames opens the door and steps into a flat that smells of abandonment. 

*

-

-

It’s still dark outside, when something startles Eames out of his sleep. He’s still half asleep, and the world is bleary but he recognizes Arthur’s silhouette in the darkness of the room. He must have just returned from the job he’s been on. A small, contented smile finds its way to Eames’ lips. It’s good to have him back at last, even if Arthur’s been away for only two days.

‘’Hello darling,’’ Eames croakes, voice hoarse from sleepiness. He rubs at his eyes, and then squints a little when he realizes that there’s something _glowing_ in Arthur’s hands. 

‘’Hey lover boy,’’ Arthur whispers, and Eames can hear that he’s smiling. Carefully, without using his hands, Arthur climbs on the bed next to him, and that’s when Eames realizes that the thing Arthur is holding is a goddamn cupcake with the candle on it. He gapes, eyes darting from cupcake to Arthur then to cupcake again, his gaze confused and questioning. Arthur smiles at him, warm and loving, and Eames has to remind himself to keep breathing. 

‘’Happy birthday, Mr. Eames.’’

Eames mouth falls open again.

‘’But--’’ he begins. _I’ve never told you when my birthday is._

But Arthur knows anyway, of course he does.

Arthur leans closer and places a kiss on Eames’ still open mouth, and it’s almost a default setting for Eames to return the kiss. It’s gentle and sweet, and loving, and in Eames’ private opinion it could go on forever. He almost makes a noise of disapproval when Arthur pulls back. He’s still smiling and it’s something Eames could never get enough of. Eames reaches with his hand and cups Arthur’s cheek, traces the line of those smiling lips with his thumb. It’s intoxicating, contagious, and Eames finds himself grinning stupidly. Blame it on the early hour.

‘’Make a wish, Mr. Eames,’’ Arthur whispers and brings the cupcake closer to Eames’ face. Eames raises his brows.

‘What, do you want me to say it out loud?’’ he asks, kind of teasing. Arthur snorts.

‘’It would pretty much ruin the concept of birthday wish now, wouldn’t it?’’

‘’Right,’’ says Eames. ‘’Yeah. Just give me a minute, would you? Let me think. Meanwhile you can sing _‘happy birthday’_ to me or something.’’ 

Arthur snorts again, amused.

‘’I think I’ll spare you my singing voice.’’ 

‘’Oh, but I do like your voice, very much so.’’ Eames grins widely at that and winks suggestively. ‘’Darling, the things you do with your voice when we’re together…’’

Arthur laughs.

‘’Asshole,’’ he breathes, the remnants of laughter still present in his tone. ‘’Blow the candle before the whole cupcake drowns in wax.’’

So Eames takes a deep breath and easily blows out the flame. 

_Let us live happily ever after,_ is what he thinks while doing it. 

It’s kind of cheesy and he would be impossibly embarrassed if he was to say it out loud. But that’s what he wishes for, deep down in his heart.

It’s not like he’ll ever say it out loud. Arthur probably knows it, anyway.

-

-

*

Nothing changes after that. Time still flies past him and he doesn’t bother anymore.

Sometimes, Yusuf pops in and Eames knows that he comes to check on him and make sure he hasn’t done anything stupid, yet. 

But Eames isn’t going to. 

It really would be fucking ungrateful. 

It really would be a waste of Arthur giving his life to stand in the way of bullets that were meant for him.

*

Time passes and the sun is always scorching hot and blinding light. 

Even that doesn’t change, no matter how many hours and days and weeks disappear behind him.

*

Sometimes he feels that he isn’t grieving enough. 

He thinks that maybe he should cry for days on end.

Maybe there should be sharp pain forever accomodated in the spaces between his ribs, in every squeeze of his heart. 

But there’s nothing.

Just numbness.

And he succumbs to it because he has no strength left at all.

*

-

-

Arthur is a complete disaster when in private. He forgets where he puts his things, leaves empty mugs at the table, notoriously steals Eames’ clothes.

He’s giddy and giggly, and trips on his own feet more than once. He jokes and laughs and forgets things the way that stick-in-the-mud Arthur would never do.

It warms something inside Eames, makes him laugh sincerely.

-

-

*

In the end, Eames is left wondering if Arthur really knew about all the things Eames could never say out loud. 

He’s assumed that Arthur must have known. Arthur, brilliant and flawless Arthur, always knew everything that was important. And those things, they were the most important in the whole world. 

But Eames never asked, never confirmed his assumptions. 

It’s not like he can ask anymore.

In the end, Eames can only hope that _Arthur knew._ And that Arthur loved him as much as Eames still loves him.

*

-

-

‘’I think I might just love you a little bit,’’ he says one night, when it’s unbearably hot and they’re both spent but can’t fall asleep.

Arthur is still beside him but his hand finds one of Eames’ and he links their fingers together, gives them a squeeze. He turns his head to look into Eames’ eyes.

‘’I think I might love you too,’’ he says and it feels just like salvation.

-

-

*

Ariadne visits him on Christmas. It’s only then that he discovers that seven months of loneliness has already gone by.

She just stands at his door on Christmas Eve, first thing in the morning. He doesn’t even have time to ask _what the hell are you doing here?_ because she invites herself in, white t-shirt and jeans shorts. She must see the question written all over his face because she waves his hand at him, dismissively, and promptly drops her bag on the hallway floor.

‘’Long story short, my parents hate me, and I really didn’t want to spend Christmas with them.’’

And that’s it, that’s all the explanation he gets. 

‘’Sooo,’’ Ariadne starts turning to face him, her face all lit up with the broad smile. ‘’Shall we prepare the grand Christmas dinner?’’

He wants to say that _no, they shan’t,_ that he doesn’t care, that there’s no point. But there’s something in the way she takes his hand and drags him to the kitchen to start a list of which products they need to buy… there’s something in the way she squeezes his fingers lightly as if she wanted to say, _I’m here._

_You’re not alone._

*

Ariadne declares, “ _What the fuck Eames, do you even eat anything?!”_ and she probably pretends she doesn’t see that there’s only half of what’s used to be him. 

Then she mutters something about needing a back-up, so she fishes her cellphone out of shorts’ pocket and it turns out her _back-up_ is none other than Yusuf.

*

They end up rummaging through two nearby food shops, Eames and Yusuf doing the heavy lifting, while Ariadne happily searches for ingredients and sweets, and all that can possibly satisfy her Christmas needs. 

*

Her hyperactivity and joy dumbfounds him. 

She’s all over the place, radiating excitement, smile as bright as the sun. And Eames suspects that she’s doing all this in a desperate attempt to distract him, take his mind off the shadows that surround him.

He doesn’t have proof for that, just sees sometimes how her expression cracks when she thinks he isn’t looking.

*

-

-

Arthur doesn’t celebrate Christmas. Neither does Eames. 

Their idea of Christmas is really simple. They cook together -- every year it’s something different -- then eat in the living room, observing how all the neighbours celebrate in their homes. Then they drink, Arthur his beloved wines and Eames his whisky... mostly, but sometimes he drinks wine, too. 

After that they relocate to the bedroom and don’t leave it until noon the next day.

-

-

*

‘’Come on boys, those vegetables are not going to chop themselves! Put your backs into it!’’

‘’So, when did this despotic side of yours manifest, exactly?’’

‘’It was always there, Yusuf. I just didn’t want to scare you all.’’

‘’Ah, okay. If you say so.’’

‘’Eames! You have to stir it or else it’ll burn!’’

*

‘’I had a crush on him,’’ says Ariadne, after the fourth glass of mulled wine, sometime after their Christmas dinner. It’s almost midnight and they’ve swapped sitting at the table in favour of sitting comfortably on the floor quite a while ago. ‘’Like a very massive crush. For about six solid months.’’

Eames snorts, because he knows that, Yusuf knows that, and Arthur did, too. But it’s somehow funnier when Ariadne says it out loud.

‘’He knew, didn’t he? Of course he did, god, how embarrassing!’’ She hides her face in her hands and bows forward and that only makes Eames more amused. 

‘’Well, I would say it was pretty obvious,’’ Yusuf says, sipping from his glass, delivering the merciless blow and Ariadne whines miserably. 

‘’Oh _god_ ,’’ she wails and she looks as if she tried very hard to disappear. ‘’And that’s not even the worst part.’’

That makes both Eames and Yusuf say _“oh”_ in unison.

‘’So what is the worst part?’’ Yusuf prompts lightly, but they all know Ariadne doesn’t need any encouragement.

‘’I was sure he had a crush on me too!’’ she exclaims without untangling herself from her limbs. 

And somehow, maybe it’s alcohol’s doing or maybe the timing is right or maybe it’s everything at once or nothing at all, but both Eames and Yusuf burst out laughing. They’re not sure if they are laughing at Ariadne’s miserable and inebriated form curled up in front of them or maybe at her drunken confession. Their laughter only triggers a new wave of wailing from Ariadne and that keeps fueling their humour. 

When they finally calm down, Eames clears his throat and says, even though those words still scrape painfully in his throat,

‘’He was just extremely polite to you, tried being friendly, you know? Tried to make sure you wouldn’t get lost in this whole new world that just opened up before you.’’

And his voice cracks only slightly at that. He surprises even himself.

None of them speaks for a while after that.

*

Soon enough, Yusuf excuses himself for the rest of the night, wishing them a very merry Christmas. 

Ariadne is well into her sixth glass of mulled wine and Eames suspects she’s going to fall asleep any second. 

He returns to his previous position on the floor and melts into the comfortable silence between them. 

‘’I thought he had a crush on me too,’’ Ariadne repeats, her voice a whisper, wavering and weak. ‘’And all this time he loved you.’’

The words cut deep and the pain is sharp and blinding.

*

-

-

Those seven or eight, or maybe more drinks take them to Eagle Rock, to Arthur’s neat and a bit extravagant house, _his home_ , and Eames should probably fuck off the minute they left the bar but he didn’t and now he’s there, in Arthur’s living room, in _Arthur’s home._

And Arthur is trying to kiss him, for god’s sake.

‘’No Arthur,’’ he says although it’s hard to make his brain cooperate with his lips. ‘’No, wait, darling, I don’t know if you know but it’s really bad idea.’’

Arthur pulls back to look him in the eye, his brow furrowed.

‘’Why?’’ he asks and there’s honest to god confusion in his voice. ‘’Don’t tell me you didn’t want to do that.’’

Eames shakes his head vigorously. No, it’s important, he has to say it.

‘’Ah, of course I did, but the thing is… The thing is…’’

‘’The thing is what?’’

Oh god, it’s really hard. It’s really frustrating.

‘’The thing is that I really like you. And I don’t want to fuck this up by-- yes, by fucking you. Because you have to know that I can’t do this just casually. So it’s better if I fuck off now.’’

And Arthur’s expression is unreadable, so he fucks off before either of them can make up their minds.

-

-

*

Later she says, ‘’Eames, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. I was drunk and--.’’

But he doesn’t let her finish, cuts the sentence in half with the soft smile.

‘’It’s okay.’’

She looks like she’s about to cry. 

He feels like he’s about to break.

*

Later still, she says, ‘’Sometimes I forget, you know. And for a moment I want to scold myself for not calling for so long.’’

Inhale. Exhale. Hitch in her breath.

‘’Sometimes I think that maybe it’s all a dream but we just forgot.’’

Inhale. Hitch in her breath. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

Eames realises belatedly that Ariadne has lost too. She has lost a friend.

*

Ariadne stays for New Year’s Eve, too.

They don’t really celebrate in some big manner. They take a walk around Eames favourite parts of the city. Ariadne bribes him into visiting a casino and he ends up playing blackjack for a while but his skills have gotten a bit rusty so he passes quickly. 

After that she’s adamant on ordering take-out so they do just that.

On their way back, they drop by Yusuf’s place and Ariadne once again shows her imperious side. Yusuf ends up being dragged by the elbow to Eames’ flat and there’s no way to excuse himself this time.

They sit on the rooftop for most of the night, talking, playing cards and avoiding alcohol and choosing only neutral topics for their conversations. 

Ariadne, who seems to be _spiritus movendi_ of all their activities, comes up with an idea to call Cobb and wish him late Christmas wishes and a Happy New Year.

And when the clock strikes midnight, and the sky above them explodes with a blaze of colours and shapes, Eames discovers that something has just changed, even if only a little bit.

*

He can feel some part of the weight that had been sitting heavily on his chest disappear, just like that.

*

The clock strikes midnight and the world turns. 

Nothing changes. Nothing stays the same.

*

-

-

Mombasa is hot and sunny and Arthur scowls all the time because he’s boiling in his suits but never swaps them for anything more practical. Eames teases him mercilessly about that because now he knows that he can. Now he knows that it’s not them being on a warpath, that’s just how they are with each other, around each other.

‘’Arthur, sweetheart,’’ he says during the lunch break, when they’re out and eating at some not very fancy restaurant, and he says that because now pet names are almost a term of endearment. ‘’It’s so lovely here I might just end up buying a flat.’’

Arthur looks at him funnily and takes a sip of his coffee.

‘’It suits you,’’ he states after a while and that’s it. Just a simple statement.

‘’It doesn’t suit you at all,’’ Eames counters. ‘’You look like you just can’t wait to get the hell out of here.’’

Arthur almost grins at that, but his face is half obscured when he lifts the cop to his mouth again.

‘’It’s not so bad,’’ he shrugs. ‘’It’s just that it’s infuriatingly hot in the suit.’’

‘’So wear something else, for god’s sake!’’

Arthur’s almost-not-fake enraged expression makes Eames grin widely.

‘’It’s work, Mr. Eames, we’re working. I have to dress properly, thank you very much.’’

Eames clicks his tongue.

‘’Ah-hah,’’ he croons, and then says, almost, nearly affectionately, ‘’Fancy twat.’’

Arthur snorts into his coffee.

‘’Boring paper-pusher,’’ he finishes.

-

-

*

After Ariadne leaves, the flat is silent again but this time it’s a little more bearable.

*

Two days after New Year’s Eve comes a text message from Amanda.

It says:

_Merry belated Christmas and a wonderful New Year._

_Sorry for writing so late._

He thinks about replying, writes half of the message and deletes it.

He dials the number instead.

Amanda answers after the third signal and there’s a surprise in her voice.

They talk for two hours straight, despite the ten hours difference between Mombasa and the States.

*

And when the end of January comes, Eames visits Yusuf.

‘’I guess I should go back to work, or else I’ll go bankrupt,’’ he says, but avoids Yusuf’s gaze. ‘’So if you hear something interesting, would you mind letting me know?’’

Yusuf tries not to smile too widely. He does a poor job of that.

‘’Of course I’ll let you know.’’

*

Eames messages all the extractors he used to work with more than three times, let’s them know that he’s actually very alive and very ready to work. He doesn’t get any answer, but it’s not like he was expecting to get them. 

He sends a text to Cobb, too. That he’s back in business if anybody were to ask.

Cobb calls him the next evening.

‘’Actually,’’ he starts and Eames knows immediately that there won’t be any small talk at all. ‘’I happen to know someone who really needs a forger. Bergamo, in a week. You in?’’

‘’You trust this someone?’’

‘’Absolutely.’’

‘’Then I don’t see why not.’’

*

-

-

‘’Arthur, Arthur, darling Arthur.’’

‘’Yes?’’

‘’I’m going to buy that flat, really. You should come visit someday. Without your suits.’’

It’s dark and Eames’ eyes are closed, but in Arthur’s exhale he hears him smile.

‘’Yeah, okay. I will.’’

-

-

*

The job is nothing complicated, so even Eames who admittedly isn’t in the best of shape when it comes to forging, pulls it off with almost no difficulty.

The extractor turns out to be Cobb’s old friend, who’s heard a lot about Eames but never quite got to work with him despite being in the business for a long time.

‘’Good to finally have you on board,’’ he says, after their first day of work. Eames nods and smiles politely. 

The chemist and the architect seem to be waging war with each other, but it doesn’t affect the job in the slightest, so Eames chooses to enjoy their lunch break spectacles of rivalry from afar and doesn’t get involved.

The point man -- well, actually a woman -- is young and ambitious and thorough. She doesn’t integrate much with the team, but then again Eames doesn’t either. Whenever they have a break, she reads something -- be it a book, or a newspaper or whatever else. 

Eames thinks that it’s good she’s the first point he works with after all that happened. The urge to forever compare her to Arthur is rather small. But he compares her anyway.

No one ever will be quite as thorough as Arthur, no one ever will be quite as good as him.

Eames knows he has to live with that knowledge because there’s nothing else left to do.

*

He does his next job with Romanova, some month after Bergamo.

It’s a typical Romanova job, so it’s in Brazil, Teresina this time. Stealing from dreamy-rich wankers. An easy-peasy and well-paid job. 

Romanova launches herself at him the minute Eames steps into the room. She’s laughing like a happy child and clings to him, and says in Russian, i _t’s so good to finally see you again, so, so good,”_ and, _“How long has it actually been? Definitely too long,”_ and _“How about some vodka when the day’s over?”_ Eames chuckles and feels a wave of affection wash over him. This woman never changes, that he’s sure of.

Eames knows the chemist. He’s worked with her numerous times, both he and Arthur had.

Mila is almost as enthusiastic as Romanova but doesn’t cling to him as long. She gives him a quick hug, and a short greeting. Then she proceeds to lecture him about new formulas and synthetic substitutes to some substances that are more efficient and non-allergic. Eames thinks faintly that he should’ve tried harder to set Yusuf up with her, before she got married. But then again, given that her wife is probably the most beautiful woman on the planet, it wouldn’t have worked out anyway. 

‘’I’ve heard about the famous allergic reaction you had after that job in Mombasa a long time ago, so it should be interesting for you.’’ She winks at him and he shakes his head. 

‘’Of course you heard about it,’’ he counters. ‘’I saw you and Arthur gossiping about it the minute you had an opportunity!’’

He belatedly realises what he’s said. Belatedly registers the pain that follows. Mila falls silent, smile slipping off of her face. 

It hurts just slightly, speaking about him, thinking about him and remembering that it’s in the past. Eames remembers that it used to hurt more. 

Mila is watching him intently. He offers her a faint smile because there are no words left.

‘’How are you holding up?’’ she finally asks in a hushed voice and with softness on her face. He shrugs at first; there’s no correct answer to give. _Good_ would be an overstatement. _Bad_ would be an understatement. _Shitty_ would be a lie. The word that describes the perfect mix of those three doesn’t really exist, so he settles for something on the neutral side.

‘’I manage.’’

Mila nods and lays her left hand on his right shoulder when she passes him, gives it a little reassuring squeeze. 

*

He goes to grab that vodka with Romanova after they’re done for the day. Compared to her, he doesn’t drink all that much. She downs one shot after another in a violent succession and still manages to hold a civilised conversation. Eames is impressed.

‘’Eames,’’ Romanova says, some time around the second hour of their meeting. Her voice bears the edge of seriousness, accent thicker than usual. ‘’I’m sorry. I’m really so sorry.’’

Eames doesn’t particularly want to have this talk right now but what he wants or doesn’t want, doesn’t matter so he sits, unmoving, and nods watching the tabletop with unprecedented interest.

‘’I know you probably don’t want to talk about it now,’’ she says, as if she read his mind. ‘’Or preferably ever again, but you will eventually have to. Life goes on, Eames, and it doesn’t give a shit about your loss.’’

And Eames knows she’s right. 

Romanova has lost everything and everyone, and knows better than anyone what suffering and agony mean. 

They don’t talk after that. Just sit there, finishing their drinks. When they both stand up, Romanova pays the bill and they leave the bar. Wave goodbye and go their own separate ways.

*

-

-

‘’Jesus, Arthur, it’s already three in the morning. Come to bed, will you?’’

Eames goes to the kitchen to drink some water only to find Arthur hunched over his laptop, in the exact same position as last night, and the night before that. Arthur is beginning to compromise his sleep again and Eames is rather adamant to not let that happen again.

Arthur mutters something under his breath but closes the laptop and stands up. Comes up to Eames and lays his head on Eames’ shoulder.

‘’It's a dangerous job and I have to be sure everything is checked,’’ he says, tiredness in his voice. 

Eames kisses the crown of his head. ‘’Yeah, I know.’’

‘’Besides...’’ Arthur’s voice is quiet and soft. ‘’I would never forgive myself if something were to happen to you because I didn’t check everything.’’

-

-

*

Eames comes back to his hotel room, and there’s a deep and ugly wound on his soul that will take forever to scar or maybe it will never scar at all.

And the world around him doesn’t give a shit that he’s lost half of himself.

*

The job goes smoothly, to no one’s surprise.

Eames is only mildly annoyed by their point man and his cheekiness so he’s not pleasant around him but doesn’t go out of his way to look for a fight.

They go under, Eames forges a stereotypical silicon-breasted girl because that’s what their mark is into. The forge is impeccable. They get the information, they wake.

Romanova pats him on shoulder, says, ‘’Good job,’’ and then announces that she’s going to be very active this year, expand her field of operation a bit, and she’ll surely be contacting him when she’s got something new planned. 

Mila smiles at him on her way out, waves energetically. He smiles back and lifts his hand to return the gesture.

Eames takes the first flight from Teresina to Sao Paulo where he transfers onto another flight. After two more transfers and thirty seven hours, he opens the door to his flat and falls face first into the bed. He spends two days there and is too tired to think about anything. 

Arthur’s presence in the back of his head and in the crevices of his memory feels more soothing than distressing for the first time in a really long time.

*

A month and a half later he arrives at LAX.

Amanda is already there, waiting for him when he gets through customs. She smiles brightly when she spots him, even though her eyes don’t smile. It will probably take a long, long time before they start smiling again.

‘’How was your flight?’’ she asks when they’ve made it out of the building and are headed to her car.

‘’Long,’’ he answers automatically, and Amanda snickers. ‘’But it could’ve been worse.’’

There’s a long pause when he throws his bag on the backseat and then arranges himself in the passenger seat next to Amanda. She starts the car, turns the radio on. The pleasant murmur of the eighties fills the space. She glances at him, a faint smile on her lips.

‘’The best decade in the history of music, don’t even try to change my mind.’’

‘’I don’t intend to,’’ he answers truthfully, because music from the eighties is his guilty pleasure, too.

The mood is almost light, except they both know there’s no escaping the subject, and sooner or later one of them will have to bring it up.

Amanda turns out to be that person. 

‘’How have you been?’’ she asks, eyes trained on the road ahead, hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. 

Eames takes a deep breath. 

‘’Rather shitty,’’ he admits because lying won’t get him anywhere now. Amanda nods.

‘’Yeah,’’ she breathes. ‘’Yeah, me too.’’

*

-

-

They visit Mal’s grave every year on the anniversary of her death. Arthur is always grim and humourless then, doesn’t really talk to him unless it’s strictly necessary. 

Sometimes Eames catches him staring blankly out the window when they’re back home, sometimes there are tears in his eyes. Eames knows better than to bother him then. 

Eames can’t quite understand the depth of Arthur’s loss. He has lost before, but never grieved and remembered for so long.

-

-

*

The tombstone is elegant and well tended.

It bears the name Eames knows but has never used. 

*

Amanda holds his hand when they stand there, in front of it.

*

‘’Why do you still keep in touch with me?’’ he asks her when they are back in Eagle Rock, in the house that once was only Arthur’s, then it belonged to both of them and then Eames couldn’t live in silence and emptiness anymore.

‘’We are a family, aren’t we?’’ she answers and the kettle whistles.

‘’The person that used to connect us isn’t here anymore,’’ he points out, because without Arthur between them, there’s nothing keeping them together.

‘’No, that’s not true,’’ she says just before the clock strikes midnight.

*

And just like that, the whole year passes.

*

‘’The person lives as long as the memory of them. That’s what our mom used to say. So the only thing we really need to do to keep him alive, is to keep on remembering.’’

‘’Oh, that’s easy. I don’t suppose I will ever be able to forget.’’

‘’You see? It’s that simple.’’

*

-

-

They have an unspoken pact to never get wasted together again. Just to avoid some major communication problems.

But of course they break this pact. Accidentally.

They are both drunk when they manage to stumble their way to bed. Arthur looks torn between launching himself at Eames and fucking him into the mattress and falling asleep on the spot. Eames himself isn’t in much better shape, so they settle for kissing. It’s always a good compromise.

But then Arthur remembers that he has something extremely important to tell him. 

‘’You’re the best fucking thing that could happen to me my whole life, Eames,’’ he says, and his voice is surprisingly sober. ‘’I don’t know what I would do if you left me.’’

Eames’ brain can’t form any coherent reply so he just kisses Arthur again and again and again, until they’re both breathless from it.

‘’Fortunately for you, my love, you don’t have to worry about that. I’m not going anywhere. I can’t live without you.’’

-

-

*

What Amanda doesn’t say is “ _You see, it hurts like bitch at the beginning, and then remains in your bones as a dull ache, not enough to bring the agony, but just right for you to never know peace.”_

*

‘’But you know that never forgetting doesn’t mean never moving on, right?’’

‘’Well, I’m working on that part. It’s admittedly harder than remembering.’’

‘’Yeah, me too.’’

*

He meets Cobb for the first time since the funeral. 

They eat lunch in Cobb’s favourite restaurant and talk about everything unimportant. 

Eames watches Cobb and wonders if he too will be able to come to terms with his loss.

‘’It gets better with time, you know,’’ Cobb says as if he just read his mind.

‘’No, I don’t,’’ answers Eames, truthfully, because it’s still too early for him. 

Maybe it does.

Maybe it doesn’t.

*

He swaps Californian sun for the Kenyan one and once again takes shelter within walls that bear too many memories.

*

But it does get better eventually.

*

He starts taking jobs regularly, as the world really doesn’t give a shit about his personal perturbations. 

Romanova keeps her word -- as always -- and keeps him entertained with new offers. 

There’s Keikkonen and Silva and McAllister. Eames ends up working with them quite often, too.

He drinks with Yusuf and starts going to casinos once more. 

Life is almost back to normal.

*

But it will never be normal again.

At least he tries.

*

He visits Ariadne in Paris. 

She’s enthusiastic and energetic and hugs him as if he was someone more than just Eames.

She’s so much into dreamshare these days that when he asks if she has someone, she just laughs.

‘’Building worlds is my only lover,’’ she answers with a glint in her eye and smirk on her lips. 

They drink wine and eat cheese, and spend whole days in art galleries and museums. 

Eames tries very hard not to remember that he met the love of his life right here, in Paris. 

He tries not to remember that it’s Paris that brought them together.

*

-

-

‘’Oh my god, I swear I will never go to Louvre, never again!’’

‘’Why is that, darling?’’

‘’Have you seen all the idiots there? They have no idea about art. Not in the slightest!’’

‘’Well, love, that’s what you call the average citizen.’’

-

-

*

Then from Paris, he flies to Perast to forge the head of a conflicted family and get all three sons to start jumping at each other’s throats.

He walks out of the job with a lucrative paycheck and some new contacts. He decides to take his time and sightsee a bit and ends up in Podgorica. 

There are casinos but no memory of Arthur there.

Eames thinks it’s a shame they never went to Montenegro together. It seems like an ideal place to make memories.

*

‘’Eames, I’m in love.’’

Amanda’s voice is full of joy and excitement, and she sounds like she’s about to cry. And probably that’s the case.

 _That’s wonderful,_ is what he wants to say but the words get stuck in his throat even though he means them.

‘’He better treat you well or else he’ll have a word or a few with me,’’ is what he settles for instead.

Amanda’s laugh rings through the phone.

*

Time really does fly. 

Admittedly, Eames has gotten a tad better at keeping tabs on it.

But before he can realise, it’s Christmas again. 

He flies to Los Angeles to spend holidays with Amanda and her boyfriend who she loves so much she couldn’t pass any occasion to talk about him whenever Eames spoke with her on the phone.

It’s Amanda who picks him up from the airport. She’s smiling so brightly it’s almost blinding. All of her is smiling, her eyes too. She’s happy and Eames thinks, before he can scold himself, that she shouldn't be. 

*

Remembering doesn’t mean never moving on.

*

On the way to Eagle Rock, in the car filled with the sound of A-ha’s greatest hits and Amanda’s carefree chatter, Eames thinks that Amanda is moving on. 

*

He wants to move on too, but at the same time he doesn’t.

He isn’t ready yet.

*

Josh is easy-going and talkative, full of enthusiasm and energy, and looks at Amanda as if she’s the only person in the whole world.

That’s good. That’s really good and Eames is truly happy for them, but watching them cuddle, exchange kisses and holding hands gets hard sometimes. 

He takes the liberty to excuse himself a few times under the guise of weariness. He goes to the guest room then, knows the way around the house by heart, and sits there doing absolutely nothing. Then when he feels he can do it again, he joins them in the living room.

*

Eames stays for New Year’s Eve, too. 

He spends it with Dom because Amanda and Josh have their own plans and he doesn’t want to be a fifth wheel on a cart.

They get drunk -- but, to be exact, it’s Eames who gets impossibly drunk while Dom remains quite sober -- and only then does Eames have the courage to ask how he’s supposed to live on.

*

‘’It gets better,’’ says Dom, voice sober and clear and sincere. ‘’But it’s never as it was before.’’

That’s the only thing Eames remembers when he wakes with a massive hangover the next day.

*

The world turns and almost nothing changes.

Almost nothing stays the same.

*

-

-

There’s a job in New Delhi that goes south and they’re on the run.

They stay in New Delhi for almost a week and a half because there are people comingafter them, and there’s really no time to leave, to run away.

So Eames dusts off some of his old contacts, the ones that can be trusted -- ones who owe him a favour or two -- and organizes a proper hideout. 

Eames finds out during this time that Arthur is exceptionally good at poker.

Eames, _who’s just lost to Arthur in poker,_ looks bewildered.

‘’Bloody hell, darling!’’ he exclaims, throwing his cards in the air. ‘’Why didn’t you tell me earlier?’’

Arthur’s smile is smug and triumphant.

‘’You never asked.’’

-

-

*

Then there’s London, and San Marino, and then the elegant tombstone with a name that Eames knows but has never used. 

And then there’s Romanova and Keikkonen, sometimes Silva and sometimes even Lundgren.

*

There’s Amanda and Josh, and there’s Ariadne and Yusuf and Dom. 

*

There’s the whole world, really.

*

And memories that he carries everywhere.

*

And everybody and everything around him changes, and he does too, but slower and steadier, with calmness and indifference.

*

He dreams of Arthur just once, four years and three months after.

It’s his own natural dream, which is strange because he’s been sure he won’t dream naturally ever again.

The dreamscape is fuzzy and blurry, nothing like the quality of induced dreams, but Arthur is here, and he looks just as young as Eames remembers him, handsome and beautiful and vivid. 

They’re in their house in Eagle Rock, standing in the living room. And then they’re in Mombasa, in the flat that’s also theirs, and Eames wants to tell him so many things but doesn’t know where to start. Arthur just smiles, comes closer and takes his hand, and Eames knows he should feel the warmth of this touch but he doesn’t feel anything, and--

Arthur squeezes his hand and his smile only grows wider. There’s so much love in those brown eyes that it takes Eames’ breath away.

‘’It’s alright, Eames,’’ Arthur whispers. ‘’I know. It’s alright.’’

And then Eames wakes.

*

_It’s alright Eames._

*

And it really is.

*

-

-

‘’If I ever were to die before you, I forbid you to go and see me in dreams.’’

Eames’ words startle Arthur and he almost drops his mug, glaring at him with a strange mix of anger and horror.

‘’Don’t be ridiculous, Eames, you’re not going to die just yet.’’ His words are sharp but his voice trembles.

‘’Of course not, but if I ever were to die then you have to promise me that you won’t go and search for me there.’’

‘’Fine, but you have to promise me the same thing.’’

‘’Deal.’’

-

-

*

Amanda is pregnant. 

‘’If it’s a boy we’re naming him Arthur,’’ she announces and there’s no point in arguing with her. Eames hears Josh laughing somewhere on the other end of the line. And he laughs too.

*

The name of her beloved brother but not exactly his real name.

*

The name of the person Eames loves, the one and only true name.

*

‘’Say hello to the best uncle in the world, Arthur,’’ says Amanda and her newborn son opens his eyes and looks at Eames.

‘’Hello Arthur,’’ he whispers and the name slips affectionately off of his tongue. ‘’It’s a pleasure to meet you.’’

*

And just like that, the world goes on.

*

It's been years now, he realises one day. 

*

_It’s alright Eames._

And it really is.

Maybe not always, and the pain is still there -- and it will likely never go away.

But it’s alright now.

*

As to Eames, well...

Eames gets old. 

He's no longer immortal, like he’d once foolishly believed himself to be. And this, getting old, is a very slow process, almost unnoticeable if one doesn't pay close attention to all the lines reflected in the mirror. It just happens one day, the gray in his hair that wasn't there a month ago, a week ago, or maybe yesterday. The new lines in the corners of his eyes and on his forehead. Tiredness that catches up with him quicker than usual. 

It's strangely casual and soothing, and nothing like Eames expected it to be.

Sometimes, he wishes that Arthur could see it, too. Mock Eames about getting grumpier and wrinklier, just to kiss his pretend scowl away. Sometimes, he wishes he could see Arthur growing old too. Threads of silver in his dark hair, the net of lines around his eyes.

He would love every wrinkle and every gray hair.

But Arthur is still young on the back of his eyelids, in every picture Eames has catalogued in his brain. He's forever young, the memory still vibrant, and vivid, and alive. 

And Arthur's PASIV still sits in the very same corner, although there have been at least three new generations of the device since this one last was used. It doesn't matter, because Eames isn't going to use it, after all. It’s here to remind him.

There's also Amanda's son, who looks and behaves just like Arthur, _little_ Arthur, and Eames knows it should be impossible but guesses that some things in this world are beyond genetics and family is family, even if they're not of the same blood.

Family is who one chooses to love. And that makes Eames the luckiest person in the world, really. Because he once chose the right thing. The right person.

*

Arthur is still in every corner of his flat in Mombasa, and he’s in every corner of every city Eames visits. 

He’s in the eyes of Ariadne when they reminisce about the old days, in Amanda’s words and the way she looks at him sometimes. In the way Dom smiles sometimes.

Arthur is everywhere, always next to Eames.

The love he can never let go.

*

‘’Tell me something, darling,’’ he asked once, but he doesn’t remember whether it was under the Kenyan sun or the Californian one, or maybe it was under the sky of Paris. What he does remember is Arthur turning to look at him, love in his eyes and a smile on his lips. He was young and so beautiful.

‘’What is it Eames?’’

‘’What do you wish for?’’

Arthur mused over the question for a moment. 

‘’For us to get old and grumpy,’’ he said without hesitation, and there was a mischievous glint in his eye. ‘’So that I can make fun of your _bloody_ back problems.’’

‘’Now then, what makes you think that I will have back problems?’’

‘’Be reasonable. We both will have them.’’

*

Mal said once, a long time ago, that they were like fire and ice, but Eames thinks now that she was wrong on this one.

They were both fire, each burning in his own way.

*

It starts like all stories start.

Somewhere, sometime, there are two people who fall in love and live together through thick and thin, share every atom of their souls with each other, until death parts them.

*

And it ends like this:

Eames still loves Arthur. And he will never stop loving him, not until the last star at the very end of the universe burns out. 

And then, he will love him even longer than that.

**Author's Note:**

> (Also, I'm a total mess, so of course there had to be last minute changes, and there's a paragraph that made it into the story on the last second, BECAUSE DEADLINES AND I TOTALLY FORGOT ABOUT IT! So sorry Jones, I'm like that sometimes, and if you all want to yell at someone because there are some mistakes in the part where Eames is a child, so scream at me, I'm the one to blame.)  
> (Sorry.)


End file.
